


H.E.L.M. Stories

by b0nes



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:20:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29359398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/b0nes/pseuds/b0nes
Summary: The H.E.L.M. is a surprisingly private place. For the people who work from there, it's a small taste of calm in the middle of a whole new storm. It was made to be efficient, of course, but comfortable, too, considering two of its main strategic operators reside there. And if things get a little bit domestic, well, that's not anyone's business.
Relationships: Osiris/Saint-14 (Destiny)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	H.E.L.M. Stories

**Author's Note:**

> saw a collection of really cute ideas on a tumblr post, and op gave folks free reign to write them, so thats exactly what i'm doing!
> 
> first on the menu is some o14

It had been raining for days. Heavy clouds swept down from the mountain range that the last safe city on Earth was nestled into, and flashes of lightning only briefly cut through the deep dark of roughly 3AM. Inside the conference room of the H.E.L.M., Osiris hadn't noticed the time pass, hunched as he was over the work currently consuming his full attention. Papers and data pads were scattered across the war table. The City’s internal forces were already stretched so thin, there was hardly any time to think about stretching the cramp out of his aching neck, much less taking any proper break. Humanity was teetering on the edge of war with the Cabal again, and Osiris suspected that they would not be so lucky as to survive a second one. They hadn’t had time to so much as  _ breathe _ between everything on Europa and now the Cabal resurfacing with Empress Caiatl at the forefront, demanding the Guardians’ Light to bolster her army. The Vanguard and all its associates were spread too thin to do anything but work, and delegation had required a few promotions for some of the more accomplished Guardians in the system.

And on the H.E.L.M.? Osiris, Crow, and the Young Wolf. An interesting choice, but a fairly sound one.

A once-steaming mug of tea sat cold and neglected on top of a stack of data pads, and Osiris had nearly knocked it over twice now without thinking to actually move it. His eyes stung, heavy with exhaustion, but these days he’d found the best way to get any sleep at all was to work until his body got fed up and cut the lights off. Without Sagira there to pester him into taking at least  _ some _ semblance of care for himself, it was easy enough. He’d gotten a lot done by anyone’s standards but his own -- for Osiris, their “too much” was his “never enough”. The only person alive or dead who seemed able to keep up with his work ethic these days was the Young Wolf.

When he caught himself starting to drift off, Osiris put the datapad down and straightened his back with a wince. Thunder crashed outside, rumbling the walls of the H.E.L.M., and Osiris got up from his perch on the edge of the war table to stretch his limbs. He’d hit a wall anyway, it seemed, and he thought with some bitter amusement that  _ someone _ would probably tease him into taking a moment to clear his head if she were able.

Crow had long since turned in for the night and Osiris found himself for the most part perfectly alone in the H.E.L.M. without his quiet company. The maintenance frames weren’t much for conversation, not that Osiris intended to socialize with them any more than he would anyone else. They did their jobs, he did his, and everything existed in equilibrium. In short, it was quiet.

Maybe a bit lonely, but Osiris didn’t mind that quite so much.

He looked up as one of the many sets of large doors hissed open and Saint-14 strolled into the war cabin, a box held with care under one arm. Osiris froze in place, a deer in Sparrow lights as he subconsciously tried to come up with any excuse to dismiss the Titan and avoid some inevitable conversation about things he didn’t want to talk about. Saint spoke up before he got the chance.  
"Osiris! I knew that I would find you up here. Come. We sit. We eat." He gestured broadly and openly as always and Osiris could see raindrops that still clung to his armor. Did he really  _ walk _ all the way here?  
"I don't have time for frivolity, Saint," Osiris said after some pause, his tone clipped, even though his back was aching for relief. And he  _ was _ hungry, but that hardly mattered.  
"It is not a frivolous thing to take care of yourself, my bird," Saint said, this time less loudly and more sweetly. He extended a hand toward the reclusive Warlock and tilted his head. "Please?"  
Osiris waffled. His heart hammered as his gaze shifted to a frame dutifully typing lines of code into one of the many computers nearby. They’d played this game for years now and he still felt this way any time he was near Saint, almost expecting the other boot to finally drop. A not insignificant part of him wanted a hole in the floor to open and swallow him, but his head nodded. Betrayed by his own body, once again. “Alright. Fine.”

He didn’t take Saint’s hand.

Saint led him to the communal space through the doors Crow usually perched next to. The Young Wolf had asked once why he didn’t spend any time in there, and Osiris recalled hearing him say something about how it still felt a bit too unfamiliar to be comfortable just yet. He could relate.

The room was comfortable, in theory. There was no real reason to feel out of place. The warm, deep brown floor contrasted beautifully with white and silver walls and furniture, and the low light made it an excellent space to take a nap or just to relax. It was designed with the intention of being a  _ homey _ sort of place and for most Guardians, it might have been nice to have a designated area in which to relax before going back to planning to avoid total war and how best to destabilize an army that specialized in destabilizing armies. For Osiris, who hadn’t had a home since his exile and who had grown accustomed to living within the confines of a jumpship, it just felt foreign. A flimsy facsimile of home.

Saint didn’t seem bothered by it, of course. He led the way in comfortable silence, finding a couch with a low table in front of it to place the box and sit down. Removing his helmet, he comfortably sighed, and he knew not to expect Osiris to be the first to speak as he stood there, arms crossed with what was surely a dour expression on his face. “I must admit,” Saint said with a nod of approval, “The craftsmanship here is exquisite. Come.” He beckoned Osiris closer and with some trepidation, Osiris sat beside him. It probably should have bothered him more that he so easily obeyed Saint’s requests but his pride wasn’t ready for that little rumination.

“I don’t spend a lot of time in here,” Osiris admitted, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other. With his arms folded tight at his chest, he realized how rigid and closed off his posture was.  
“I know.” Saint had a smile in his voice and in the soft, candlelight flicker of his internal lights. “Always in flight, as usual. I know it’s late, but I have brought you a care package.” He gestured to the box.  
Osiris opened his mouth to say he didn’t  _ need _ a care package, he needed to get back to  _ work _ , but Saint, already ever so familiar with his habits, held up a hand to silence him. He opened the box. Inside of it, Osiris noticed the thermal coating on the inside, and the soft curls of steam rising from what appeared to be an old and slightly chipped crock pot. The warm scents of stew floated up to greet him and his vision doubled for a second when he realized exactly how hungry he was. It soured his expression further and he sighed, uncrossing his limbs to sit up, and maybe sit a little bit closer to Saint. “You didn’t have to do this. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”  
All Saint had to do was look at him dubiously for Osiris to feel his hackles raise. He looked away and tugged down his mask, and Saint chuckled as he turned back to their dinner. The pot was removed from its box and placed gently on the table and soon to join it were two small bowls, spoons, and an ancient cooktop. At this, Osiris tilted his head, but Saint’s Ghost quickly appeared to answer his question. A tea kettle and a small package of tea appeared on the table and Saint thanked his little companion. “I only had one box,” Saint explained, and Osiris felt the uncomfortable tickle of a fond smile ghost briefly across his expression. “Pardon me, one moment.”

As Saint went to the kitchenette to fill the kettle, Osiris looked at what he’d brought. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen an Exo eat soup. They tended to be a private sort. He thought about the gaps between their jaws where proper cheeks had once been. Saint’s return distracted him from that line of thought as he set the kettle on the cooktop and turned it on. He went about preparing the two mugs, shaking loose tea into each of them with well-practiced care.

This felt an awful lot like a date. 

Osiris’ stomach was doing flips and he felt foolish for it. He was an old man, not some schoolboy with a crush. “Saint,” he said after some time. Saint hummed his attention as he arranged the bowls and began to fill them. Osiris winced a short exhale, “I… This is. Quite generous.”  
“Nonsense, my bird,” Saint said, “Do not feel obligated to make conversation for my sake. I am just happy to be here, with you. It is of vital importance that we spend time with those we love, when we are able.”  
Osiris felt oddly comforted by that, even if he felt his ears burning. There were a thousand things left unsaid between the two of them that, at this point, didn’t need to be. Saint was alarmingly perceptive when he wanted to be and that made things at once easier and more embarrassing when it came to Osiris and his difficulty in expression beyond the scope of the abstractness of his poetry. Nothing he ever wrote could quite capture what he truly felt, but Saint always seemed to understand those invisible gestures between the lines. He took the bowl Saint offered him and settled back into the couch.

“Sometimes I forget how capable you are in the kitchen,” Osiris admitted, already feeling warmth seep back into his bones as he ate. It was a simple stew, but it was made with care. Tender bits of meat and a broth perfectly balanced between spices and the natural flavors of vegetables. He could probably eat only this for the rest of his life and be perfectly content.  
“A good meal is just as important as any training one may practice,” Saint said, a spoon halfway to his mouth, “Good for your body, and for your mind.”  
“Some more so than others, I suspect.”  
“Ah, not so.” Saint sagely shook his head, “The protectors of Light and life must be whole and hale if they intend to stand between the Darkness and what they love. These things you cannot do on an empty stomach.”  
Osiris chuckled, “Spoken like a true Titan.”

When the kettle whistled, Saint placed his bowl on the table and reached to turn down the heat on the cooktop. He poured water into both mugs. As it steeped, Osiris could pick out the aroma of chamomile and breathed in deeply. A warm meal and hot tea, the soft mechanical sounds of Saint simply being alive, “whole and hale”, beside him, and Osiris felt his shoulders relax and his rapid thoughts begin to organize themselves more concisely. Perhaps he had a point, but Osiris wasn’t about to say that out loud. He’d never hear the end of it.  
“You always do that,” he mused, looking at the mugs half-full with tea.  
“Hm?”  
“You only fill them about halfway. Why is that?”  
Saint looked at Osiris, then at the mugs. The angle of his jaw suggested thought. “I am not sure… Perhaps an old habit, long forgotten. There is no rush to finish quickly and leave each other’s company.”

After that, conversation came a bit more naturally. Saint filled Osiris in on the comings and goings of Guardians and Tower workers, and Osiris discussed some of his research. Their peaceful late-night dinner stretched on into morning.

\--

“I told you,” the Young Wolf said, lightly elbowing Crow in the ribs.  
“Wow. Never thought I’d see it with my own eyes…” Crow’s eyebrows raised.  
“I think, in the whole time I’ve known these guys, I’ve only seen them meet face to face twice.” The Young Wolf leaned his shoulder against the door frame as the pair watched the two old Guardians sleep.  
“Really?”  
“Mhm. And never for dinner.”   
“How long have they been a thing?”  
The Young Wolf shrugged, “Long enough. A million years for all I know. Saint said it took a long time for Osiris to even say anything, but  _ Sagira _ told me they’d been writing to each other for even longer. They definitely wouldn’t be a thing now if she wasn’t such a gossip.”  
“Wait, wait. Writing?”  
“ _Poetry._ ” It was the Wolf’s turn to raise his eyebrows conspiratorially.  
Crow grinned and shook his head. “Unbelievable… How do you go that long without telling someone you’re in love with them, even when everyone else can see it?”

Behind the two Guardians, Ghost and Glint exchanged exhausted eye-rolls.  



End file.
